


Inter Lupos

by LeTempest



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: F/F, M/M, mentions of past character death, saxa centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeTempest/pseuds/LeTempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saxa has been called many things in her life, but kind is not among them. She has no use for kindness. She is a wolf that comes in the night. She takes what she needs. She gives nothing back. And she always protects what is hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inter Lupos

**Author's Note:**

> Saxa/ Nasir friendship, because I have a lot of feels right now, okay?
> 
> Remember when I used to write happy things?
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spartacus, which is property of Starz.

Saxa had been called many things in her life, but kind was not among them. She had no use for kindness. Kindness did not keep her fed and clothed by a father who had wanted a son, and ended up with her instead. Kindness did not stay the hand of boys and men who had sought to tame her when she was yet too small to really fight back. Kindness did not stop the roman fucks when they killed her family, her lovers, her friends and comrades, when they dragged her from her home and fitted her with shackles. It was only her will to fight, her skill in doing so, that had kept her alive this long.

            But she was not so callous as people often thought. She had lost much in her life. To be a woman in such a world was no easy task. There were always those who sought to take from her. Her love, her life, her purpose, her control, her identity. In a world of vicious men, these were things that were not supposed to belong to her. She had had to take them, these things which should have been hers, should have been any woman’s, by right. In the beginning, it had given her something to fight for, something to reach for, something that belonged to her. She protected, with the utmost ferocity, that which she saw to be hers.

            Agron was hers. A brother from her homeland, one who had always understood her ways, one last link to the place and the people she feared she would never see again. So when he had asked her, quietly, to look after Nasir, she had agreed. The boy did not need protecting from the enemy, he was more than capable, but he loved and he mourned as fiercely as he fought. His sprit was strong, he did what needed doing. In his chest beat a kind and loving heart. She had seen many brought down by such a treacherous thing. The boy did not need protecting from the enemy, he was more than capable, but he loved and he mourned as fiercely as he fought. In his chest beat a kind and loving heart. She had seen many brought down by such a treacherous thing.

Nasir was a brother too, not by blood or birthright but by circumstance, and that made him as much her kin as Agron. But truth be told, some part of her had been inexplicably drawn to the Syrian. When they had first joined the cause, she had passed, the small, fine boned boy off as a passing amusement for her brother in arms. He was pretty, yes, and he could hold a blade but he was still a simply slave boy. It had not taken her long to see his fire. He fought and trained with all he had. He had not been born to this life, but still he strove to be a part of it. And yet he did not loss his peaceful, logical nature. He was an anomaly, with a foot in both worlds. He did not seek protection or position from Agron, only love and companionship. He was not afraid to call his man to the sands when he was wrong, nor was he afraid to defend him. He did not hesitate from standing for himself either, ready to raise hackle at anyone who claimed him to be unfit in his duties.

As the weeks and months passed, Saxa quickly learned that Nasir was not the pampered lap dog she once thought him to be. A wild little dog, who had broken chain, and found and forged himself a place among the wolves. He was part of their pack now, one of their kin as much as his lover. So when Nasir when he had volunteered to follow Spartacus, to reclaim those taken from them, she stood gladly at his side.

Her hands had helped lower the cross, had aided in pulling the nails from damaged flesh, even as her brother screamed. She stayed at his side, standing guard, ever watchful, in the oncoming days. She well known enough to be feared, and it saw her companions given some measure of privacy. Agron fought the sickness as he did all things, with animal ferocity. But the fever and his wounds, left so long untended, had all but destroyed him. Nasir himself, grew quiet and his feature became drawn. The burden of healer and lover combined weighed heavy on his shoulders. It was not a weight she could help him bear, as the other women did. She had no knowledge of healing wounds or what herbs could be combined to aid the passing of pain. For all he knowledge on how to take a life, she knew little of how to save it. Death took whom it would, whenever it deemed fit. But if Agron was not to live, it seemed only right that his lover should be at his side, away from prying eyes. Leave the others to protect them from the threat of attack, be it from Crassus forces or from the hands of Rome that may have been hidden among their ranks. That she could do.

Days stretched out before her, and she grew to know the faces of those she allowed past her guard, the cycles of their visits, when they would come, how long they would stay. Naevia most often, though her own grief weighed her steps. She helped Nasir as she could, taking on the role of caregiver as often as he would allow her. She could even coax him to speak sometimes. But most often she stayed quietly at his side through the dark hours of the night. It was to Naevia he wept, when the end seemed to close. Laeta came often as well, bearing gifts of blankets or food, reports on supplies and how the others fared. It was she who had stepped up to shoulder his duties. But her visits were short, under Naevia’s hard gaze. Kore came too, with knowledge and careful hand, to aid in the healing. Gannnicus girl, Sibyl, came from time to time, bringing with her soft voice and gentle presence. Even Belesa came, to offer what knowledge she had.

            On the third night, Lugo managed to shoo Saxa away, backed by Spartacus order and her lover’s guiding had. Heart heavy and body aching, she fell to her bed, to Belesa’s arms and then to much needed sleep. But she was woken again in the wee hours before dawn, by a cool hand on her arm. Instinct drove her to waking, reaching for her knife, even as she drove her assailant to the ground.

It was the dark girl, Kore, eyes wide with fear as Saxa’s blade pressed harder to her throat.

“Why you come here,” she snarled, her nerves frayed thin and her temper short.

“Naevia bids me to call for you.”

            Saxa rolled of the girl, her heart sinking in her chest. That could only mean the worst. Belesa saw the furrowing of her brow, untangled herself from the blankets. She pushed one of her own dresses and cloak into Saxa’s arms, easier to don than Saxa’s own garments.

            “Go to him. Send word if you need extra hands,” She said, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of Saxa’s mouth.

            She dressed quickly, following Kore to the familiar tent.

            “The man passes then,” the German asked quietly.

            Kore shook her head.

            “He is the same. It is Nasir who now draws concern.”

            Saxa stopped in her tracks.

            “The wild little dog? What has happened to him?”

            “He does not eat, he does not sleep, he barely speaks. Naevia and Laeta try and coax him into food or drink but he usually lets it sit untouched. But today he flew into a rage. He sent us from the tent. Lugo says he will see no one.”

            “Then why send for me?  
            “Naevia says there is no man who can stop you once you have set your mind to something. Not Lugo. Not even Nasir himself. “

            Saxa nodded. The youth had shuttered himself away from gentle voice and kind touch. Neither a quality that she possessed. So they had called for her, for her hard hand and calloused tongue, to do what needed to be done. That was a thing she could do.

            “I will see it done then,” she said, pushing past the girl.

            Lugo looked up from his feet as she marched towards him. His brow furrowed, taking in the foreign dress and sleep rumpled hair.

            _“Little man says he will see no one tonight.”_

            _“ He will see me,_ ” Saxa replied, _“whether he wishes or not. Will you try to stop me brother, or will you let me pass freely?”_

            He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it promptly. He’d known Saxa since she was barely a child. He of all men knew her determination and, more dangerous, her temper. With a sigh, he stepped aside and let her pass.

            The fires had gone low in the braziers and the room smelled of sickness. Nasir sat, as even, at Agron’s side. But his eyes looked not at his lover’s face. They were distant, unfocused, as if he were staring at something beyond the shadows. It was the gaze of a man lost, of a man who did not want to be found.

            She set herself to breathing life into the fires, the rattling of the brass shocking him out of his reverie. He scowled.

            “What are you doing here,” he croaked.

            Saxa’s lips turned down in a frown of her own. He sounded nothing like himself, as if he had been rubbed thin.

            “Naevia asks it of me. So I come,” she said with a shrug. From the coner of her eye, she can see the bowl of untouched stew, still steaming. It sets among two other bowls, all untouched.

            “Since when do you answer Naevia’s beck and call,” he retorted. His tone would have been biting if he had not sounded so tired.

            Saxa crossed the room, reaching for the still warm bowl.

            “Since it concerns a friend. She says you will neither eat nor sleep.”

            Nasir’s jaw clenched and he turned his gaze from her, reaching for a damp cloth to bath Agron’s fevered skin. Saxa spotted the shacking in his hands.

            “I am neither hunger nor tired,” he replied, soothing the cloth across the German’s ashen skin.

            She moved slowly to his side, with the same caution one used to gentle a skittish beast, before kneeling at his side.

            “You are a poor liar, Little Brother.”

            He turned on her, scowling.  
            “I am no child,” he all but snarled.

            Saxa met him with the same hard gaze.

            “Good. For I am no mother. Now eat.”

            She shoved the bowl into his hands, and he made as if to shove back but Saxa caught his wrists.

            “Eat or I will make you. And you will not like it.”

            He glanced at the bowl in his hands and a shudder ran through him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, as if fighting the urge to be ill.

            “Why are you doing this?” He asked quietly and Saxa felt a pang of sadness in her chest. She had never had any patience for mothering, but her heart ached for the boy. She knew what it was like to watch someone you loved waste. Her mother’s death had been far from quick.

            “Why are you?” she asked in return.

            He graced her with a bitter smile.

            “Because I am a coward,” he choked.

            “You tear down Roman’s like a scythe among briars, all to bring back a brother. And you call yourself coward? There is no man in this camp who would agree with you.”

            “Because they do not know my heart,” he shouted, and she could see the fear in his eyes now, the weight off all that had been laid upon him. He would not eat, he would not rest, because he could not. Guilt was a ravenous beast and it was eating Nasir alive.

            “When he left, all I could think about was him. Whether he still breathed or not,” Nasir admitted, sounding years older, “I tried to steal myself for the worst, for the surest outcome. I almost beilved it too. I had almost accepted it, that I would not see him again. I would know he had died a hero, that he held me in his heart, and I told myself that was enough. But when the Roman came to us with a bargain, and there was that small bit of hope….I do not know what I expected to find. A man whole? Surely not. But not this. Never this.”

            His hands shook now and she took them in her own, steadying him, before the bowl could clatter to the floor.

            “I see now why he sent me away. Because it was easier to imagine that I had lived than to watch me die. Or that if I was struck down, that I would die a hero’s death. A death he would not have to see. Because anything, any death, has to be better than this. He is wasting away to nothing before my eyes, and every moment I wish we had not gone, that he had died on that field. Because I am a coward, and I can not end his suffering. I do not have the strength. So I must watch him fade,” dark eyes glanced back at his lover and the longing she saw shook her. She had never loved anyone so fiercely as this, and yet she could not imagine such pain.

            Her hand reached out and she brushed back a tangle of dark hair. The gesture was almost maternal, and Saxa was not sure what had driven her to it. It simply felt right, she supposed.

            “You do not long for suffering, but the loss of life, the taking of it, means something to you. You heart is not hard. You wish for your pain, and his, to end. There is no shame in that,” she told him, her own gaze resting on Agron’s still form. She had seen men endure worse wounds and survive, but the man was in poor shape.

            Her fingers closed on Nasir’s wrist, holding tight, as she would a brother.

            “While he breathes, there is hope. Eat,” She commanded, “And rest. If the time comes where there is no chance left for him, know he will not suffer.”

            “Saxa,” Nasir breathed”

            “He will not be alone,” she cut in, “I will wake you, to say goodbye, if it must be done.”

            “I can not ask this of you.”

            “You have not asked it. I have offered. The stupid fuck loves you Nasir, it would be a comfort to know you were at his side in the end. But he would not have you bear the weight of the task. I can not promise you he will live, I can not promise you he will die. But I can promise you that if the end becomes clear, he will not suffer. It will be quick and painless. That I can do.”

            Nasir nodded, letting out a shaking breath, his body crumpling in as he released it. It was as if his anguish had been all that was holding him up. There was sorrow there still, bone crushing sorrow, but the fear and the guilt were gone. He the stew in slow, careful bites and when he finished, he crawled carefully into his lover’s sick bed. He pressed himself to Agron’s good side, asleep even before the tears dried on his cheeks.

            Saxa watched them for a long time, knowing in her mind that this could be the last time they held each other in this world. She wondered if one day, she could earn such a moment before her own death. If anyone would love her enough to mourn her like this, enough to anguish over her death. She could not know the answers. But she could do this. For her family, for her pack.

Just as the sun broke over the horizon, Agron opened his eyes.


End file.
